


don't you let me go

by sugdensquad



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugdensquad/pseuds/sugdensquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieren struggles to deal with Rick's death, despite the support of his sister, and seeks solace in the memories they shared together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't you let me go

It takes him a long time to get to sleep that night, and when he does he dreams of Rick’s fists hammering the dashboard, and of boxes floating out to sea. They look an awful lot like wooden coffins.

When he wakes, Jem is leaning in the doorway, chewing on her bottom lip, hair messy from sleep. It takes everything he has to push himself up and open his eyes fully. His body feels weighed down, his shoulders sag under the overwhelming pressure, and his breath hitches in his throat as everything hits him afresh.

Jem hears the small gasp he lets out and crosses the room in two strides, clambering onto his bed and yanking him into a hug. Her skinny arms encircle him, crushing him, constricting his breathing and forcing his shaking to subside. He tries so hard not to sob on her shoulder but eventually he lets go completely, breaking down in front of his little sister. 

He screams against her, the noise coming out like rusted barbed wire from some dark place deep inside his chest. His throat is hoarse but he carries on sobbing all the same, his fingers twisting into her pajama top, his eyes tightly shut to block out Rick’s smile. But he can still see it, haunting him, his voice seeping through the cracks in his mind, bleeding into the present and blinding him. 

“Please…” is all he manages to say before another wave of pain pulls him under, drowning out everything else. He struggles for breath, inhaling sharply before letting out another guttural moan which shakes him to the core. He can feel Jem trembling as she tries to control his screams, brushing back his hair and shushing him quietly like his mother used to when he was young. He knows he has to stop, she’s too young to see this, but every cell in him is crying out for Rick, and his absence is like white hot pain to every nerve ending he has.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip, desperate to stop the yells still escaping, but he just can’t stop them. It’s as though his body believes if he can just shout loudly enough, it might be enough to wake Rick from his sleep. His chest heaves as he sobs again, but it’s quieter this time, his mind giving in, giving up. 

_I’ve lost you_ , he thinks. _I’ve lost you, Rick. You’ve left me, and now I can’t follow you. Why did you leave me?_

Jem shifts back, her arms loosening their grip around his shoulders. His lips are quivering but the sobs have stopped and he knows if he can just keep a lid on it until she leaves, he’ll have done well. She can’t see him like this, not now, not ever. He’s the big brother, and she’s been through too much already. He has to put his family first – their feelings are more important. He can deal with the grief when he’s alone.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” she asks, her voice so small that he can almost picture the girl she was, dancing in her room with her pigtails bobbing in time to that awful pop music she put on repeat. He wants to go back to that time, when Rick was his best friend and nothing more, when Jem was innocent, when his Mum and Dad didn’t have the tell-tale lines of grief marking their faces forever. He’s put them through so much, he’s been through so much himself… He just doesn’t want to feel anymore.

“I’ll be fine in a bit. Go back to bed,” he whispers, his throat contracting as the pain threatens to engulf him just as bad as before. He smiles to hide the pain, nodding to her reassuringly when she licks her lips nervously.

“You’ll come and get me… if things get… bad.”

She’s struggling to find the words, avoiding his eyes because she’s terrified of what she’ll see in them. He knows what he’s done to her, what he’s still doing to her, so he rubs her arm gently and promises her that he already feels better.

As soon as she’s out the door, he buries his face in the pillow and bites down onto the cotton. He lets out one final sob, the worst of them all. It cuts through him like glass, shattering in his chest, shards embedding in his lungs and heart so all he can do is curl into a ball and hope for it all to end. He doesn’t want to feel this way, like he did before, but everything is exactly the same. Only this time, he knows he can’t leave, not even if the pain keeps going, or God forbid, if it gets worse.

_Why did you leave me? Why did you have to go without me?_

He pulls his knees up to his chest and clamps his teeth down on pale knuckles. It won’t bruise, so he doesn’t have to worry that his Mum or Dad will see he’s hurt himself. The only bruises he has now are on the inside, the scars that will never heal over. They’ll just keep being ripped open every time he goes outside and sees the garage door, or every time he walks through the woods, or past Rick’s house. Even his own room is filled with memories he and Rick shared. This is where he showed Rick his artwork; this is where Rick told him to apply for art school; this is where Rick pinned him against the wall until their faces were inches apart and pressed his lips to the corner of Kieren’s mouth. It was the only time they kissed, and even then it wasn’t really a kiss – it was Rick trying to understand what he was feeling, and failing. But it was enough. For Kieren, even the memory of Rick’s touch was enough to last him a lifetime, because it was more than he had ever expected to get. More than he had ever hoped for.

He crawls out of bed, limbs aching and unattached to the rest of his body. He feels his way towards the spot, his hand brushing against the wall until his eyes find the tiny mark left where his head had slammed against the plaster. He presses his thumb into the dent, closing his eyes as he imagines again the feel of Rick’s hands bunched up into his neatly pressed shirt. His heart had hammered against his chest, so loud he was sure Rick could hear its jagged rhythm too. He had wanted to tell Rick then, how he felt, how he had always wanted him, always hoped for more than what they had already. But instead he had just stared, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as Rick moved closer and closer, freeing one hand to move upwards towards Kieren’s neck. The seconds had melted away, the room had ceased to exist, everything had disappeared except Rick’s lips pressed feather lightly against the corner of Kieren’s mouth. He had smiled into the touch, leaning in and smelling Rick’s leather jacket and cheap soap scent. 

And then he was gone. He bolted for the door, and Kieren was left alone in his room, the kiss already drying on his skin as if it had never existed. And here he is again, alone in his room, with nothing but the ghost of Rick to keep his world from crashing down around him.

Except, this time, there is no hope of a second chance. Rick’s returning had been a gift, a chance for him to set things right, to tell him everything he had felt and still felt now. And he had waited too long. It was all just too late, he had been too afraid, and in a way he had taken everything for granted. He could afford to take his time, or so he had thought. And now it was over, it was all bloody finished - benched before he had the chance to play the game, just like Amy had said. 

“I love you,” he whispers, his lips pressing against the wall, pretending it’s Rick he’s pushed up against. He lets out a sigh which is somewhere between relief and fear, still half-expecting Rick to turn and run for the hills, or for Bill to burst through the door and blow his head off with his rifle.

He kisses the dent, eyes shut, imagining Rick’s lips against his own, more desperate than Kieren’s, increasing the pressure until their mouths are moulded to each other’s. He imagines Rick’s hands sliding underneath his shirt, stroking his back and then his chest, whispering his name all the while. And then they’re kissing again, and Rick is holding him so tightly that Kieren knows he’ll never need anything else in his entire life again. He doesn’t need any more than this.

When he opens his eyes and sees the blank wall staring back at him, his legs give way and he collapses onto the floor, not understanding why his own desperation isn’t enough to bring Rick back. He just wants to tell him, to see him, to feel him, to love him. 

_God, just let me love you. Let me love you, Rick, and that’s all I’ll ever need._

But he’s gone. Kieren knows it, he can feel it in his soul, feel the same absence he had felt when he was told Rick was dead the first time around. But it’s so much worse this time. They had raised his hopes, made him believe that this was a second chance for them both. And then it had been ripped from him, and more than that, they had shown him the whole, horrific mess. He had knelt beside Rick’s lifeless body, looked into his unseeing eyes and felt his cold, clammy skin. He had touched the corpse Rick had become, seen the knife in the back of his head and the awful, black blood dripping from his eyes and nose.

It was burned into his brain, every minute detail catalogued and branded, ready and waiting to be sprung on him the moment he thought he was safe. He wants to remember Rick when he was alive, properly alive, his cheeks rosy from the high winds and his eyes glowing with youth. But more than any of that, he wants to remember the warm Rick, the Rick who told him how brilliant he was going to be, how talented he was, how they were never going to leave each other. They had promised, in this room, they had promised never to leave each other.  


_You promised me, Rick. You looked into my eyes and you fucking promised me you would never leave me. So then where are you? Where the fuck are you?_

He manages to shuffle across to the box underneath his bed. He pulls it out and dips his hand inside, fingers shaking until they find the thing he’s looking for. The photograph of him and Rick, young and smiling and full of life. He leans his head against the leg of the bed, his eyes going in and out of focus as he stares intently at their faces. He memorised this photo a long time ago, he knows every shadow, every line, every feature. He could draw it in his sleep if he wanted, trace the outline of Rick’s smile without even having to look. 

This is how he has to remember Rick if he’s ever going to survive this. He has to think of Rick like this, before he became a soldier, before he was killed, before he came back with all those scars and dark memories and anger. He has to remember him as the boy he was, terrified of getting too close to his friend, laughing at stupid things, grinning from ear to ear because of a bloody mixed CD. It’s the only way… the only way left now. 

Because he can’t give in. He won’t do it again, not now he knows what it did to everyone the first time. He can’t leave, not this time. So he has to stay. And if he has to stay, here, without Rick, then the only way to make it bearable is to have a part of Rick with him.

He kisses the photograph and places it back in the box, closing the lid and knowing it won’t be the last time he goes to it for comfort and solace. 

_I’ll see you again. One day, some day, I’ll see you again. I’ll close my eyes, for the ‘big sleep’, and you’ll take my hand. Don’t you let go of me, Rick, because I’ll be damned if I ever let go of you._


End file.
